


The Soundtrack to Gallavich

by fckyeahgallavich



Series: Canon fill-in [5]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon Era, Canon Fill-in, Canon-Typical Violence, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-13
Updated: 2019-03-17
Packaged: 2019-10-09 17:13:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17410949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fckyeahgallavich/pseuds/fckyeahgallavich
Summary: Before Mickey went into juvie for the first time, he and Ian seemed to already have a pretty solid companionship. They knew things about each other that your average friends-with-benefits arrangement wouldn't make necessary. So... How did Ian and Mickey learn so much about each other in such a short amount of time?Through the most intimate ways, of course.





	1. The Original Score

**Author's Note:**

> I don't remember who I got excited about this fic but I've been playing with this one for a while and finally sat down and did it. The fandom talks about Ian and Mickey's music choices a lot and these scenes got stuck in my head when I was thinking about how different their tastes probably were and how their tastes in music helped them learn so much about each other.
> 
> I decided to make this into a multi-chap so that I would give myself enough time to give a nice thorough story. This chapter will focus on season 1 and next chapter will be titled Soundtrack of Summer for the summer time they were together in season 2 :)  
> I spent entirely too much time trying to figure out which park Ian and Mickey could have possibly gone to only to find out that both baseball scenes were shot in Cali and there are actually no community baseball fields within walking distance of the Milkovich house. Therefore I made up a name for a fictional baseball field that does not actually exist and it's probably somewhere around where Limas or Shedd Park are

Many noises permeate a typical night in south side Chicago. Depending on where you are you could expect gunshots and the squeals of ambulance or police sirens, or you may hear the roaring laughter of friends out wandering the city--some drunk or high and some just enjoying some late-night freedom and anonymity. You could even hear any combination of all of those noises throughout your stroll through the streets depending on where you were.

This evening was quiet on South Trumbull; only the confident footfalls of two teenage boys interrupted the comfortable early winter silence. Mickey's hot breath pushed clouds of vapor in front of him as he yawned and fought the urge to bitch at Ian for dragging his ass out of bed just as he was about to fall asleep.

"I just needed to get out of the house." Ian explained quietly. His tone was morbid and though Mickey's heart was with him, Mickey rolled his eyes and let out another powerful yawn as they left behind the grinding sounds of their boots scraping against the decrepit concrete in favor of the light crackle and smush sounds as they crunched through frosted grass. Mickey rubbed his hands against the coarse fabric lining his coat pockets as they trudged through the grass, that sound raking irritation down his back, making him stop. He wanted to warm his hands but he was too irritable to deal with annoying sounds on top of freezing his balls off at this ungodly hour in fuckin November.

“And it really couldn'ta lead you somewhere indoors?” Mickey griped back. Ian grinned and shrugged.

“The stars looked pretty tonight.” Ian sighed, halting his step and tipping his head back to take in the sky. It took Mickey several steps to notice Ian wasn't with him.

“Seriously? Stargazing? You told me you weren't one of them girly gays.” Ian shoved Mickey playfully. Mickey grinned through slightly chattering teeth, laughing in shaky huffs.

“You never just…Look at the sky?" Ian asked seriously. Mickey shrugged.

“Never needed to.”

“I mean… There's never really a _need_ __ to. You never just happen to look up at the sky for no reason and maybe see that it can be pretty?” Mickey shifted uncomfortably and shivered as he shook his head. Ian smiled and shook his head in disbelief. "Okay." Ian breathed, dropping down right on his ass and laying flat on his back In the grass. Mickey arched his brow at him and scoffed when Ian just grinned up at him. Mickey averted his eyes and moved resentfully to warm up. 

"Ain't your ass cold as fuck?” Mickey griped, blowing warm air into his hands. Ian shifted his shoulders in an attempt at a shrug and reached into the front pocket of his jeans to pull out a blue iPod.

He traced random patterns into the frosted ground with his feet, marking the area surrounding Ian. If he'd wanted to be a shithead he could've easily traced a dick around the redhead with the outline from his body serving as a thick vein  on the underside, but that seemed like a waste. He'd be done in less than a minute and... then what? Just keep walking in a dick-shaped circle around him? Boring.

So for the next several minutes he tracked little zigzags and curves around him. It was that kinda art that's not supposed to look like anything... abstract. That was the point. But when he started reaching his toe out of his walkways to draw little dots in the grass between zigzags, he realized that what he was doing was girly as fuck and he finally turned to face Ian and broke the silence.

“Enjoying yourself?" Mickey grouched.

"More fun than you, I'd bet," Ian taunted with a smug smirk. Mickey wanted to smack that smug-ass look off his face.

“Well you're the one who's got me out here in 30° weather.”

“If you'd lay next to me and quit your bitching maybe you wouldn't feel the cold anymore. I'm actually pretty cozy.”

Mickey was about to argue but halted mid-breath. He glared ahead at nothing and resigned to walk through his design to first sit beside, then lay beside Ian. As Mickey settled level to Ian's shoulder, the redhead passed him an earbud.

"I don' know where that bullshit's been," Mickey sassed, but accepted the earbud. He was being an ass for the sake of it and Ian knew it. The redhead laughed and shook his head with amusement. He placed the piece of plastic in his ear and tried to settle his back that tightened in resistance to the hard, frozen ground beneath him. 

Then his muscles tensed for a different reason.

"What the fuck bullshit is this?" Mickey complained at the horrid whining filtering through the earbud. Ian laughed.

"My Chemical Romance. What, you don't like Mandy's music?" Mickey groaned.

" _Of course_ you got that from my sister." Ian actually fucking  _giggled_.

"It's not that bad!"

"The singer's a dude that sounds like a chick and he just bitches and moans about his life as though there ain't nothin he can do about it and like... yeah, maybe he can't but does he have to be so fuckin whinny about it?" Ian shrugged at this passionate declaration, which almost made Mickey feel stupid for making it. The song mercifully ended quickly but what took its place wasn't much better.

He turned to stare at Ian in confusion. Ian widened his eyes in sassy a  _"What?!"_ look.

"If you want me to look up at the stars and enjoy it you need to get better mood music." Mickey groaned. Ian rolled his eyes and passed the iPod over. Mickey circled through the options but was truly dissatisfied.

"Ugh... We're friends how?" Out of the corner of his eye he saw Ian's face whip to look at him with an awed and confused look in his furrowed brow and bright eyes. Mickey ignored him not even wanting to acknowledge what he said because he didn't want it to be a big deal that he admitted that Ian was a friend. Yes, it was safe to say the stupid redhead was a friend. He didn't skip out of bed at three in the morning at the start of winter without a promise of sex or drugs for  _anyone._ That meant that Ian was  _at least_ his friend. He didn't know why this seemed like such a fuckin revelation to the guy, but apparently it meant something to him so... he'd let him have that victory in private so long as he didn't try to make it into a  _thing._

The closest thing that was somewhat bearable on this iPod was Linkin Park. Everyone else was either someone Mickey'd never heard of or some whinny, emo bullshit. He laid the iPod between them in easy reach of either of them and reached into his pocket for a joint he'd stowed away.

He lit it easily, took his two hits, and passed it to Ian who grinned and took his hits. Calm splashed at Mickey's brain and though he was still freezing and was still uncomfortable by what they were doing--this faggy watching the stars crap that made Mickey feel like the strict line defining  _what_ they were was slowly smudging. With each hit he took, though, Mickey started to think that maybe this was okay. They could just be friends who get high and listen to music together...

And that's okay.

It was a few songs after the bud went out before Ian spoke.

"You've got your own room, right?" Mickey was startled by Ian's sudden inquiry. He'd been dosing in the grass, eyes closed, and begrudgingly comfortable despite how little he'd trusted Ian's word that he could get cozy on the ground.

"Yeah?" He drawled in confusion.

"I feel like if I did I could deal with being around everyone more. But... I'm around them  _all_ the fucking time with no break! It's... it's why I spend so much time with you and Mandy, it's why I spent so much time with Kash." Mickey turned to look at Ian who was already facing him. "I'm pretty much forgotten anyway but... for some reason it's still so  _suffocating_ being around them all of the time! Maybe being invisible is what makes it so hard to be around them. Maybe it'd be different if I was surrounded by them and they--"

"You don't gotta explain." Mickey interrupted gently. Ian sighed and searched Mickey's eyes for a long moment. Finally, he nodded and returned his attention to the sky.

"I know you didn't look at the stars." Ian murmured.

"Nope. And I ain't gonna." Mickey replied, squeezing his eyes shut when he returned his face skyward just to spite him.

 

.....

This became a habit for them soon after that but not at the baseball field. They both got colds after that and Mickey put his foot down that any trips to the baseball field or any outdoor field trip would have to be when the weather is  _at least_ forty-five degrees. Ian'd shrugged and nodded in acceptance, then passed Mickey a tissue he'd stuffed in his pocket when the brunette sneezed so hard he'da sworn his nose exploded.

Whenever they waited for a train or sat beside Mickey's makeshift shooting range, whenever they banged to take advantage of no one being home, whenever they wanted to talk and didn't want anyone to overhear, they blasted some sort of music. For the most part Mickey hated just about everything Ian played but he decided a month after this little ritual started that since Ian tolerated Mickey's classic and alt. rock mixes, Mickey should tolerate Ian's electronic/pop and emo bullshit. He felt like his ears were bleeding half of the time but most of the time he wasn't really paying attention to the music anyway because usually while music was playing, they were sharing stories they'd (or at least Mickey'd) never told anyone before. Mickey painted the picture of what the Milkovich house looked like when no one was looking, admitted that he actually really liked school and confessed that he wanted to try at it... told Ian that as much as he wanted to get out of south side, he knew he never would and he was coming to terms with it. Ian told Mickey so many stories about his MIA mom, Monica, that he felt he knew her... and was also glad he didn't. She sounded like an absolute basket case and Mickey didn't have the patience for that.

The soundtrack to their first few months of friendship was a jumbled mess but... it was theirs. And even in that first month, Mickey started noticing more and more of  _his_ songs on Ian's iPod as Ian discovered songs of Mickey's that he tolerated if not loved. They would always listen to those first and then as they shifted into unfamiliar territory (for one of them depending on if they were listening to Ian's iPod or Mickey's radio at home) they would spark up a conversation about something meaningful. Mickey had never wanted this and, to tell the truth, it scared the living piss out of him. It scared him because he knew it was these meetings under the train tracks or in Mickey's bedroom, it was these talks backed by squealing guitars or belting tenor vocals that made Mickey meet Ian at the Kash and Grab. It was these talks that filtered into his mind over the arguing booming behind him as Ian begged him to see him when Monica came back, eventually convincing him to go to Ian as quickly as possible. These talks were dangerous because not only did they make it so that Ian was officially  _important_ to him, so important that he would give up his freedom for just short of a year--but also because while he was locked up for those eight months or so... Mickey longed to listen to emo bitching about his pitiful life as background music to Ian telling him about his day. That Mickey could possibly miss that migraine-inducing shit meant that those talks were dangerous as fuck... but Mickey couldn't help missing it and planning the first time they'd do it again when he was free.


	2. A Mother's Influence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys get a little emotional as they continue building their forever playlist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is set in season 2 between 2x02 and 2x08. The flashback is set just before Monica comes back in S1.

The last time they went to their baseball field they were—literally—caught with their pants down. Each time one boy or the other walked by it, they’d glance over to see if anyone was hanging around and, pretty much every time they checked over that summer, someone always was—a cop, an overzealous neighborhood watch parent, a jogger who suddenly had no where else in the city of Chicago to run but around those raggedy bases.

That’s why the boys turned to fucking at the Kash ‘n’ Grab whenever Linda stepped out and the store was painfully empty. But when they could, they also tried to meet at either of their houses—and not just to fuck either… Well, yeah it normally started out that way but suddenly it wasn’t about tapping it and going separate ways. That summer was when they started really hanging out together outside of fucking… When they’d finished and after they cleaned themselves off, one would follow the other into the kitchen, usually, for beers and sandwiches, maybe a joint, but _always_ with music _._ Ian didn’t tell Mickey that the music he always played was from a special playlist he’d built while Mickey was away at juvie that winter. The songs were a mix of Mickey’s favorites and those of Ian’s favorites which Mickey pretended to hate but Ian knew otherwise.

After spending so much time together, so many afternoons by Mickey’s improv’d shooting ranges or on their baseball field listening to Ian’s iPod, Ian started to learn Mickey’s tells—the difference between when Mickey snarked about a song because he genuinely hated it and when he griped only because he thought the song wasn’t ‘Milkovich’ enough. And after a bit of time, even then, Mickey finally started to drop his facade to allow himself to just enjoy the music Ian played — only if he genuinely did enjoy it. The important thing to Ian was that Mickey was no longer ashamed in enjoying what he enjoyed, whether it was “Milkovich music” or not.

Ian would never forget last winter when he’d ironically told Mickey all about Monica only two weeks before she’d suddenly tornadoed back into his life.

 

 _A week or so back, Ian had finally got Mickey to let him suck him off—just to try it. He’d promised that if Mickey hated it, he would never bother him about it again… Of course he knew that wouldn’t happen, and he’d been right. Ian loved sucking cock and Mickey loved getting his cock sucked. Ian found, though, that he_ especially _loved sucking Mickey’s cock— His scent… his taste… the weight of him on his tongue… the feeling as the shaft stiffened, twitched, and warmed in his mouth… the high of Mickey’s moans… the feeling of_ victory _when Ian’s name slipped out in those moans… Ian was addicted to all of it. His favorite feeling, though, out of_ all _of those reasons to love worshipping Mickey’s cock, was when he swallowed him all of the way down, so far that he could feel the curls of black hair against the tip of his nose and tops of his cheeks. This move almost always got Mickey to grab hold of Ian’s hair, never to hold him down or anything rude like that but just for something to hold on to as he absorbed all of that pleasure._

_Yeah, Ian was great at giving head and he fucking well knew it and was goddamned proud of the fact, thank you very much._

_This time, the move got Mickey to come without any warning for either of them. Most people would’ve gotten pissed but… Hey, what could Ian say? He really didn’t mind a bit because he was a bit of a freak for this stuff… Having preparation was always nice but… the outcome would have been the same so there wasn’t anything to get pissed about here._

_Mickey groaned deep for a long time before giving a disinterested sniff and tucking himself away and buttoning his pants up. Ian grinned up at him and wiped his mouth clean of the bit of saliva from the effort. Mickey looked away shyly and slid down to sit against one of the concrete support beams of the L tracks._

_“Um… Sorry I didn’t… warn you, it uh—” Mickey was always so flustered after oral. While the redhead found this adorable as hell, he also found it really sad. They had nothing to apologize for, though he understood Mickey apologizing for_ that _in particular. Still, he rest his hand on Mickey’s knee to cut him off._

_“It’s fine, I don’t mind,” He whispered reassuringly back, quiet so Mickey could pretend they weren’t talking about what they were. They both turned away from each other and Mickey dragged out a cigarette to split._

_“Got any plans for the weekend?” Ian asked casually as Mickey lit up. Mickey inhaled deeply and shrugged as the smoke trailed lazily from his mouth in a relaxed stream._

_“Mandy’s birthday is next week, we might try to throw her a party’r some shit,” Mickey mumbled. Ian perked up until he realized Mickey was probably talking for family only._

_“Okay,” he murmured shly, moving to pluck the cigarette from between Mickey’s fingers after his second drag. Mickey resisted, waving the lit stick away from Ian._

_“Ey!” Mickey exclaimed just as Ian snatched it. “When’re_ you _gonna supply the smokes, huh?” He grumbled irritably, watching Ian take his first pull._

 _“When_ you _suck my dick back!” He laughed back through a cloud of smoke. Mickey wound up and sucker-punched Ian’s bicep so fast Ian didn’t have the time to dodge it._

_“Ow!” Ian screamed, turning to gape at Mickey. They hadn’t punched each other even in a playful manner since their arrangement began._

_“I ain’t a cock-sucking fairy, Gallagher, I’ve fuckin told you that!” Mickey hissed angrily._

_“Oh, what, and I am?” Ian seethed back, taking a resentful hit of the cigarette. Mickey raised one brow at him as though asking_ Do you really want or need me to answer that? _Ian rolled his eyes and released the smoke in one irritated breath._

 _“I’m gay and I like sucking cock but that don’t make me a fairy—and it wouldn’t make_ you _one to try it.” Mickey’s brows shot up and Ian held his hands up in surrender. They’d been down this road before and even though Mickey was the most enthusiastic bottom Ian had ever met, Mickey was no closer to exiting the closed closet door than after that first time together roughly a month ago. He started to take another drag when Mickey ripped the cigarette from between his lips._

_“Puff, puff, pass it, bitch. Those’re the rules,” Mickey grumbled._

_They sat in an awkward silence for such a long time that Ian finally pulled out his battered, old, blue iPod from his jeans pocket. Mickey extinguished the smoke and accepted the earbud from Ian. Placing the plastic piece in his ear, Mickey visibly relaxed against the pillar behind him as the light plucking of a soft guitar streamed in their ears._

 

We'll do it all

Everything

On our own

 

_Ian’s thoughts trailed to someone he tried to rarely think about. Since her own birthday passed a few weeks back, though, she hadn’t left his thoughts. Ian wanted so badly to tell Mickey about her but until recently it seemed like they didn’t have that kind of relationship brewing… Lately, though, it did seem like maybe… maybe they were getting there?_

 

We don’t need

Anything

Or anyone

 

_Ian turned to look at Mickey who was leaning against the pillar with his eyes closed in relaxation._

_Ian couldn’t believe how well he was getting to know Mickey and how well Mickey already knew Ian. For the longest time she’d been his biggest ally in the Gallagher house. He and Lip used to fight like a pair of rabid dogs and Fiona was always so busy keeping track of the younger kids and Frank that Ian usually fell to the wayside… But Monica always remembered him. That was why Ian was the only Gallagher child who couldn’t hate their mother. But… now maybe there was someone else he could depend on. Someone who wouldn’t leave him..._

 

If I lay here

If I just lay here

Would you lie with me and just forget the world?

 

_Lip always tried to be Ian’s most trusted confidante but… the more time he spent with Mickey, the more Ian realized Lip was actually only second best. Mickey was always the one Ian could open up to without fear of any real judgement. Sure, Mickey made fun of him plenty but Ian knew it was Mickey’s way of snapping Ian out of his slump after he was done talking. No matter what, though, Mickey always let Ian bitch about his family or school or… whatever he needed to bitch about. And no matter what, Mickey always listened and never tried to short-change Ian’s feelings on the matter._

 

Forget what we're told

Before we get too old

Show me a garden that's bursting into life

 

_The first time he had Mickey listen to this song, Ian was surprised that Mickey didn’t bitch about it. He just… lay beside him, like in the song, and listened. This was the first one he added to this playlist. It was the first song they both liked._

_That first time they listened to it Ian didn’t say anything, he just let Mickey listen. By this time they’d listened to it so many times that he knew he could talk to him during and Mickey wouldn’t be bothered by it._

 

All that I am

All that I ever was

Is here in your perfect eyes, they're all I can see

_“My mom walked out on us a year back…”_

_Mickey froze in surprise at Ian’s interruption of the silence but he didn’t look freaked out that Ian wanted to have this talk. Mickey reached into the pack of cigarettes and pulled out another one._

_“Yeah?” He mumbled around the filter as he lit their second smoke. Ian nodded shyly. Mickey passed the cigarette and exhaled a slow, steady stream of smoke. “Why you thinkin about her now?” He asked curiously. The words would sound callous to anyone else but not to Ian. That was just Mickey’s way of talking. Everything he said was rude but sometimes (most times) he was being genuine or curious. Ian crossed his legs and held the cigarette between his fingers but didn’t raise it. He shrugged._

_“I don’t know… Sometimes I just think about ‘er and miss ‘er. She was pretty much the only one completely on my side in the house. It’s why Frank hates me so much.”_

_“Eh, doubt that’s the only reason,” Mickey teased. Ian glared lightly at Mickey and punched his arm playfully when the bastard had the nerve to grin. Mickey snickered and snatched the cigarette back. “If you don’t want it—”_

_“Give it back, I’ll take the hit.”_

_Mickey grinned again—the little shit—and passed it back._

_“But yeah her uh…” inhale, “Her birthday was a few weeks ago and I just realized that I didn’t even think about it. Totally forgot. And… I don’t know, it makes me feel like shit.” Mickey nodded sagely and seemed to be gathering his thoughts… or waiting for Ian to continue. When he didn’t, he finally replied._

_“She always think o’ yours?” Mickey asked, holding his fingers out for the smoke. Ian didn’t have to think back long… No, she didn’t. She never visited, called, or sent so much as a birthday card. Finally, Ian muttered, “I doubt it.” Mickey actually looked at him sympathetically._

_“Then don’t feel bad. No point goin broken hearted over someone that don’t give two shits about you.” Ian’s brows furrowed as he gaped at him indignantly. Mickey raised his brows in response, daring him to argue. Ian couldn’t… And that was what sucked the most. He sat back against the pillar and restarted the song. Mickey didn’t object and they allowed the song to carry them away. Ian had no idea where Mickey went, but Ian always went to a place where they could be together unabashed, unashamed. A place where they could cuddle and fuck and laugh and just fucking_ be _together without walls, without judgements, without fear._

_Ian still hadn’t voiced it, but he knew that Mickey was his best friend. And  he only hoped that Mickey knew that Mickey was his best friend._

_He was too afraid to say anything else because… what really was there to say? Mickey was right, there was no use beating himself up over Monica._

_It was soon after the song ended when Ian gathered the courage to try placing his hand in Mickey’s. He knew that timing it with the end of_ Chasing Cars _would_ not _go over well, but when_ Metallica’s _rhythmic guitar and pounding bass started up, Ian figured he was safe because it wasn’t a sort of action influenced by a “mood.” He reached out to touch Mickey’s hand because he wanted to. Ian was expecting for Mickey to rip his hand away and to snarl at him in irritation… but Mickey wriggled his fingers closer, adjusting their hands so his wrist wasn’t bent at a weird angle. Ian wanted to gape, wanted to grin, wanted to_ thank _him! But he knew that giving a reaction would be just as bad and as uncomfortable as holding hands to a slow song about devotion and friendship. They sat there another two or three songs in silence before Mickey finally untangled their hands, looked at him, and asked if round two was happening or if he’d been freezing his nuts off for the past twenty minutes just to chain smoke._

 

Ian’d blown Mickey again, not really up to fucking but not _not_ in the mood to please him. That night was the first time Mickey started really opening up to Ian. He hadn’t told him anything, of course, but he allowed Ian to play fucking _Snow Patrol_ not once but twice and had allowed Ian to thread their fingers together and _held his hand back_ for ten minutes before finally calling that quits.

It was this night, and the night of Mickey’s shooting, that kept Ian’s hopes alive while the older boy was away in juvie. He knew that Mickey cared for him and that he wanted to be with him. It was only too plain to Ian that this was the truth.

So when Mickey got out of juvie and was more reserved with Ian than he was before it took some adjustment on Ian’s part. He was okay with being patient — he knew it couldn’t be easy growing up gay in the Milkovich house — it was just a weird adjustment to go from being happy at how much progress they’d made to realizing they’d taken a couple of steps backwards.

Well, a few weeks after Mickey got out, Terry left the city limits for the day. And knowing Terry, he wouldn’t return home until the Alibi closed. Mandy was hanging out with Lip for the day but she could have arrived home at any moment. So they jumped through their sex routine to be sure they weren’t interrupted and, naked and evidently not so worried about a brother or his sister catching him in such a way, Mickey wandered into the kitchen to make his sandwich, offering to make one for Ian too, to his surprise. He accepted and queued up the sound system. The rule always was that whoever’s space they were in, that was the ruler of the stereo (or equivalent).

“Is what’s in fine?” Ian called before pressing play. It took so long for Mickey to answer that Ian almost called the question out again.

“Yeah!” Mickey finally called back, apparently just having to think about it.

Ian shook his head and grinned as the rhythmic plucking of electric guitars boomed out of the speakers, followed shortly by the Axl Rose’s low growling to open “Welcome to the Jungle.” Mickey was such a classic rock junkie it shouldn’t have shocked Ian to realize Guns N Roses was already queued up and ready to go. The choice was just so different from what they listened to together that sometimes Ian forgot that Mickey’s taste was so polar opposite to his.

Mickey’d lifted the dual tape and CD player off someone who “forgot” to pay Terry and used his brothers to help him grab a pair of surround sound speakers. And by grab, he really did mean “grab.”

The Milkovich brothers walked into a pawn shop, mark in mind, and waited until the owner of the store had to answer nature’s call. The owner clearly wasn’t worried about anyone stealing something like surround sound speakers because they were all of the way in the back of the store and they were heavy as fuck. But when it came time for the owner of the shop to take a two minute piss break, that was all the boys needed to wrap their arms around the prizes and take the fuck off.

Mickey told Ian that carrying those fuckers all of the way home on foot was miserable as fuck but the way he’d seen it, yuppies have one way of earning their possessions, he had his. When the boys got home, Mickey’d called Ian to come help him set the system up — Iggy and Colin being great in a heist but absolutely hopeless at setting up even the simplest technology. Ian casually asked how Mickey came into such heavy duty machinery and he’d told him the truth. The way Mickey told it, and told it again a few months later the following fall after his second stint in juvie, Mickey still wondered if the store owner ever even realized they’d stolen the damn things.

Ian rolled his eyes and sighed in mock disapproval, and yet he’d helped Mickey set up the system and never complained about how he got them whenever he used them.

Ian slowly backed away from the set up and was about to locate his boxers when Mickey returned, two sandwiches stacked in his left hand, two beers wedged between the fingers of his right. Ian accepted a sandwich and drink with a quiet “thanks,” stuffed the sandwich in his mouth and set the beer on the side table as he pulled on his boxers. Mickey didn’t bother until his sandwich was gone, choosing instead to listen absently to the music, a small smile tugging at his lips.

Ian loved when he saw the slightest hint of pure happiness on Mickey’s face. The brunette didn’t give much away as to his mood so when he finally let his guard down enough for Ian to glimpse how he felt…. It made Ian feel indescribably good to know that he was part of the reason that Mickey was good for a little bit, even though they both knew the feeling wouldn’t last the day.

Ian was lounging in bed, taking his time with his snack and just watching Mickey poke around his room, no shame in his body or face as he wandered around completely naked. Again, that level of comfort made Ian feel _damn_ good. Once Mickey’s sandwich was gone, though, he did pull on a pair of sweats — commando — and searched through his top drawer, Ian knew for a joint to split.  He had thinner ones he smoked by himself and fatter ones he stowed away to share — sometimes with Mandy or Iggy, but more commonly with Ian. Ian pulled Mickey’s lighter from his bedside table drawer and held it out, poised to light Mickey up.

The next half hour was dedicated to getting buzzed — from their two beers a piece or the joint or both, neither of them cared so long as they got there. When the tape reached the halfway point and needed to be flipped, they rock-paper-scissored that shit to decide who would get up to flip the cassette… Ian won and yet Mickey still refused to move.

“Ugh, fine!” Ian grumbled and rolled out of bed. The rush to his head made him giggle as he realized he was _way_ more buzzed than he realized. Mickey sat up behind him and arched a brow at him. Ian, still giggling, barely managed to let him know “dude, I’m _fucked_ up.” Mickey laughed back and plopped back to the mattress.

Ian turned back to the stereo and, with all of his concentration, flipped the tape and pressed play.

The classic opening guitar sequence to “Sweet Child O’ Mine” streamed through the speakers, vibrating the room again, and Ian groaned.

“Ugh, I’ve heard this song a billion fucking times!” Ian complained. Just as he was about to jump back up to fast forward to the next track, the mattress squeaked behind him as Mickey shot up in bed.

“Touch that stereo and I’m breaking your fuckin fingers, Gallagher,” Mickey threatened without too much heat… Not too much. It was enough, however, to get Ian to hold his hands up in surrender.

“Jesus,” Ian breathed as he turned around to watch Mickey roll his eyes and flop back down. “I never took Mickey Milkovich as the mainstream fanboy type,” he mumbled as he scooted back to sit against the wall with his legs spread out and his feet meeting back together in a bit of an open meditative sit rather than criss-cross-applesauce.

“Fuck you.” Mickey spit out, again, without any heat to it. But Ian still got the point — don’t hate on this song. Mickey strummed an air guitar, his fingers moving near his shoulder as though he was actually tabbing along on a guitar.

So quietly Ian couldn’t even really hear, Mickey mouthed along to the lyrics.

 

_She’s got a smile that it seems to me_

_Reminds me of childhood memories_

_Where everything was as fresh as the bright blue sky_

 

_Now and then when I see her face,_

_She takes me away to that special place_

_And if I stare too long,_

_I’d probably break down and cry._

 

Now Ian joined in, because… honestly, this was the first time he actually listened to the lyrics and so the whoa’s and oh’s were really the only parts he knew.

 

_Whoa, oh, oh_

_Sweet child o’ mine._

_Oh, oh, oh, oh_

_Sweet love of mine._

 

Mickey returned to strumming on that air guitar during the short interlude but once the lyrics queued up again he started singing. This time, a little louder.

 

_She’s got eyes of the bluest skies_

_And if they thought of rain_

_I’d hate to look into those eyes_

_And see an ounce of pain._

 

Other than the feminine pronouns, Ian was starting to feel a connection to this song… Mickey had only cried in front of him once, and that was for two seconds when an orgasm had caught him by surprise. So… thinking of what it’d feel like to watch Mickey cry from sadness… Wow, Ian didn’t want to know what it would feel like to watch that.

 

_Her hair reminds me of a warm safe place_

_Where as a child I’d hide_

_And pray for the thunder_

_And the rain_

_To quietly pass me by..._

 

Mickey’s eyes finally flicked open and sadness _was_ in his eyes… _Fuck._

“What’s up, Mick?” Ian asked quietly, twisting his body so his legs rested on either side of Mickey’s. Mickey’s blue eyes focused on the knife he’d thrown up at the ceiling and refused to try to get back down no matter how many times Ian tried to convince him it could come loose at any moment. Mickey always said that was the excitement. Mickey opened his mouth and took a shallow breath, like he wanted to speak, but he didn’t actually say anything until the song was over halfway over and Axl and Slash took turns dominating the track.

“Mom… she uh… she really liked this band.” Ian’s heart crashed in his chest. This was the first time Mickey had said a _word_ about the death of mama Milkovich. Mandy insisted that Mickey didn’t care. They weren’t close, she’d said. But… Ian’d always suspected otherwise. Ian craned his head to keep his attention solely on Mickey’s wounded face. “I… I didn’t even get to say bye.” Mickey whispered.

What the fuck was in that joint? Ian was fucked up and Mickey was sad… Real fuckin sad. And Ian had never seen this side of him so he had absolutely no idea how to help him.

The song ended and went on to You’re Crazy, but Mickey’s mood was so low it was like he hadn’t even heard.

“That was… _her_ song.” Mickey muttered aloud to himself. It was as though he completely forgot Ian was in the room and as though he couldn’t hear that the song changed.

“How so? Was it her favorite?” Ian asked, making the risky choice to run his fingers through Mickey’s hair. To his surprise, Mickey didn’t react at all. It was as though Ian wasn’t there. But he knew Ian was there because he answered him.

“No… Well, I don’t know, it could’ve been. She listened to this whole album whenever she could… She said it was the American spirit that she wanted to have.”

“Then how was it her song?” Ian prodded gently. Mickey shuddered out a breath, tears gathered in the corners of his eyes and Ian pretended not to notice. Mickey blinked rapidly and looked up to meet Ian’s eyes above him.

“The lyrics, Ian…” Ian blushed and averted his eyes to focus on a particularly large knee-freckle because that wasn’t helpful at all considering he’d likened everything to him and Mickey… They’d grown up together and apart from the feminine pronouns, he really was the warmest and safest ‘place’ for him. So… the connection to Mickey’s mom wasn’t as clear as Mickey clearly thought it was. Mickey stared straight ahead now, disassociating from who he was speaking to as he unpacked a month’s worth of thoughts.

“She… she always tried to protect us from Terry. She never gave up even though she never actually did anything. But… for a while, she was my safe space. And… And I tossed her away.” Mickey’s brows furrowed as he clearly sickened himself. Ian’s heart shattered and he had to force himself to breathe. Oh, _God…_ The self-loathing in Mickey’s eyes was so all-consuming, so deep that Ian almost felt that loathing for himself too for not noticing how much pain Mickey was in.

“You… you can let it out, you know. It’s okay to be sad that she’s gone.” Mickey flashed his attention back up to Ian.

“Why should I be? Mandy ain’t. Iggy, Colin, Tony… They don’t give a shit.”

“You missed a few months of that time, Mick. You didn’t see how hurt Mandy was. She stayed with me for three nights because she couldn’t take it.” Mandy would kill him if she knew he told Mickey this but… Mickey had to let this out. He couldn’t harbor that loss and pretend not to care for the rest of his life. Mickey’s jaw clenched as more tears welled at the brim of his eyes. He was still holding on to that emotion with a fucking death grip.

“Even though Monica was a piece of shit mom… I would be destroyed if something happened to her. It’s okay, Mick,” Ian promised. The hollow of Mickey’s throat dipped in even more, his adam’s apple more pronounced from the strain, as he sucked back on his emotion. “Mick… let it go.”

Mickey tossed over onto his side, not even realizing how his forehead buried into Ian’s bare thigh. He covered his face and the hot air of Mickey’s breaths heaved against the underside of Ian’s leg.

He wanted… _so badly_ he wanted to touch Mickey. But he knew he was already having a hard enough time letting go in front of Ian… he didn’t need to make it harder on the guy by consoling him.

When the final track ended on the tape and all Ian could hear was Mickey’s choked sounds from straining to keep quiet, Ian jumped up to turn something else on so Mickey could have _some_ kind of privacy.

The quickest thing he could do was change from Tape to Disk. Poison’s Love on the Rocks pounded through the speakers this time and Ian kept his back turned through the entire first track. He had to get _himself_ in order before going back to Mickey. This was the _last_ thing he’d expected when Mickey invited him over and… he was certain that Mickey hadn’t expected it either. And he was sure Mickey was embarrassed as all Hell even though he shouldn’t be.

When he turned around, Mickey was leaning up against the wall, fresh beer between his knees and the last of their joint burning orange between his lips. Tracks from his tears were still etched on his face but Mickey pretended that he didn’t know they were there — or he really had no idea. Either way, he didn’t want to push Mickey too far. That was a _big_ emotional outburst for Mickey and… though Ian knew it wasn’t enough, it was better than what he’d done before.

Mickey sniffed, eyes focused on the beer, seeming to concentrate on not spilling it though the cap was still on. He finally wiped his cheeks against his shoulders and leaned forward to crouch over his knees. He held the roach up to Ian, who took a final inhale before placing it on the edge of Mickey’s ashtray so he could decide what he wanted to do with it.

Mickey popped the top off the beer without any cloth to protect his palm. Unsurprisingly, Mickey cut himself a little on the sharp edge. Ian closed his eyes to conceal an eyeroll, and fought the urge again when Mickey simply flipped palm over so the cut wouldn’t spill blood all over the blanket or his pants, but just continued to take his first sip.

Their mood for that afternoon was pretty solidly compromised and so both boys just sat in silence as Poison continued playing. Once the album was over and started to play again, Ian asked Mickey if he wanted him to stay or not. Mickey shook his head no and told him that he’d see him at work tomorrow. Ian deflated a little bit but wasn’t exactly surprised. He agreed and left, texting Mandy later that night to make sure Mickey was still at home. She told him that Mickey went to his shooting range and would be back a little after dark.

 

Ian, being a bit of a manipulative shit when he wanted to be, finally got Mickey to let it all out. It was a month before he went back in and they were finally starting to spruce up Mickey’s shooting range to be _their_ space, not just Mickey’s. Through the little portable speaker Mickey had stolen for Ian a week after the Guns N Roses incident, Ian played _that_ song again. Mickey was pissed at first and yet he wouldn’t let Ian skip it… as he’d expected. Mickey was ready to start punching walls when the tears started to gather again but Ian grabbed his wrists, more willing to take those punches himself than allow Mickey to break his hand or arm for this.

“No, Mick! You _have to let it go!_ Get it _out_ or you will _never_ let it go!” Mickey’s angry blue eyes glared at Ian as he fought to free his hands.

“Let me _go,_ Gallagher!”

“I’m not going to let you break your fucking arm, you moron!”

“Would you rather me break your fucking jaw?!”

“If that’ll help you get over this, _yes!_ ” Ian screamed in his face, leaning down the two inches they had in height difference so they were level.

“I _don’t care about her,_ Ian, _you_ let it go! Not everyone loves their piece-of-shit parents despite their shittiness!”

“Not everyone does but _you_ do.” Mickey stopped fighting then, his face crumpling and turning down toward his feet. Ian let go of Mickey’s wrists and the older boy rubbed the base of his palms roughly into his eye sockets. Ian was a little concerned for those eyes but ultimately wanted Mickey to let it out however he needed now that he was finally feeling.

Completely unplanned, Chasing Cars streamed gently through the speaker and even Ian started tearing up. It was perfect…

It was perfect because Mickey was absolutely destroyed by his mom’s death and Ian would always be there for him when Mickey needed him. Mickey never had to feel ashamed or embarrassed by what he was feeling and Ian wanted Mickey to always know that.

  

Mickey only had a few breakdowns like that in front of Ian through the rest of their lives together. When they were kids, Ian knew that Mickey wouldn’t suddenly open the floodgates every time he felt the teeniest bit of discomfort or wound over injustices in his life but… those few times that Mickey let go, Ian knew it was because of that first time that Ian not only allowed Mickey to feel in front of him, but encouraged it. He never had to push like that again. They never discussed those breakdowns after they happened. Ian just allowed them to happen, let Mickey get it out, and then they would always skip to a happier (or not as emotionally invasive) song to lighten their spirits again.

After that first breakdown, too, Ian had a new love and new appreciation for Sweet Child O’ Mine. Even when Mickey _wasn’t_ around, Ian never skipped it. And Mickey from that second day onward was able to finally sing along without heartache. Which was good because that song stayed on their playlist for the rest of their lives.


End file.
